Malice
by Brunette Inc
Summary: [one shot] Maybe it's stupid to hate her hair. Maybe I wouldn't hate her hair if I didn't hate everything else about her.


**If this looks familiar to you -- it should. I'm moving many of my one-shots to this account. **

_Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Degrassi. Unfortunately, I'm not on the show either. Wouldn't that be cool? I mean, seriously, how fun would that be? Wow, you people are going to think I'm a ditz. _

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**Malice**

And in she walks again.

For those five minutes she'd left class to go to the bathroom, the air seemed to clear. I can think when she's not around. I can just ... breathe, and function better when her presence doesn't fill a room.

I really hate that little bitch.

Okay, so maybe she has a few inches on me. Probably a few pounds, too. Stupid whore. Every time she walks into the room, I just tense. I cringe every time I hear her voice, and she's _always_ talking. She's just ... one of those people. It's not like she's that much different from me, except for the excessive blonde hair. I really hate her hair. Not in a jealous way, or in a grossed-out way, but just ... hate. Maybe it's really stupid to hate her hair. Maybe I wouldn't hate her hair if I didn't hate everything else about her.

She's not even that pretty.

Did you ever notice she kind of looks like a Pekingese? Maybe it's just me, trying to justify calling her a bitch. But she really is one. She does everything in her power to pull it off. That little snobby jerk to her chin, the way she swings her hips like everybody's looking. I think it looks like she has something up her ass, when she walks. Maybe that's just me, trying to find something else to hate about her.

As if there isn't enough to hate, anyway.

Look at her now. She has to slip into her seat, like it's a throne or something, tossing her hair out of her face. I hate her hair. And I really hope some tacky, disgusting nerd left some gum on her throne. I really shouldn't let her bother me so much. But she does. She just ... does. I can't stand her. I can't stand one thing about her. She's not a princess. When's somebody going to tell her she's just another snooty-nosed bitch with a walk like she's got something up her ass?

Like she's so high.

We're really not that different. I know that. Maybe that's why she pisses me off so much. It's because we're on the same level, and she still acts like she's better than me. At least I'm not a snot to everbody. At least I'm okay with being nice ...

They all hate me.

Maybe not all of them, but the girls ... You can just feel it, you know? When they're talking about your weekend as if it was any of their business, whispering and crowding into a corner as if I couldn't figure out they're talking about me. And somehow, in the center of all of their gossip, stands Paige, reigning over the lies and truths like it's her job to determine which is which. She decides which rumor goes and which rumor is saved for later. She takes charge of my reputation so that everyone will forget hers.

I hate her.

I really, _really_ hate her. I can feel her eyes, poisonous green and malicious. I meet her gaze, which always looks like a glare, because I'm not afraid of her. I want to stand up and tell her -- scream into her snooty, royal little face that she can't scare me. I want to tell her what a little, back-stabbing bitch she is. I want to tell her that she doesn't own this school; Degrassi isn't her kingdom, and the people in it aren't her subjects.

She's trying to stare me down.

_That's_ mature. I jerk my chin up a little bit. I want to believe that it's defiant; that it's a revolutionary step toward dethroning the great Paige Michalchuk, but a little smirk spreads across her face, and she laughs to herself as she looks away from me. Like it was nothing. Like _I_ was the one who started glaring at her. And that's what she'll tell her friends. That Manny Santos was giving her a Look in biology. And I'll be the crazy, jealous whore, and they'll sit and talk through most of lunch, discussing who it is I'll be having sex with _this_ weekend.

I don't know why I care what they talk about at lunch.

I don't know why it matters to me that they talk at all. I mean, if I have no respect for them, anyway, and if I hate Paige, what difference should it make that they hate me back? Why should I care that they think of me as the school slut?

At least I don't screw a teacher.

Maybe that's why she hates me so much. I mean, she's always hated me, but maybe that's why she hates me so much right now. I saw her ... them. And, I mean, he is really hot. He just obviously has bad taste. I hope he gets fired for it. There has to be some law restricting that kind of student-teacher relationship.

She's glaring at me again.

God, I wish the bell would just ring. She's threatening me. She's daring me to say anything about her ... "secret." I had a secret once, too. His name was Craig. Maybe, someone should give Paige's reputation the same make-over mine got. I know Paige isn't responsible for people finding out, but she's responsible for keeping the past from dying. She's responsible for keeping everyone's memory fresh on what happened.

I think they need a new whore to talk about.

I think I have the guts to start them talking.


End file.
